The ride back to Blackwood Manor was dead silent. The warriors rode ahead, laughing and talking softly about the victory, their voices carrying through the trees, but around us, the air was heavy, thick with tension so sharp you could almost cut it with a knife. Damon rode just in front of me, his back straight and rigid, his hands gripping the reins so tight his knuckles turned white. He didn’t look back once. He didn’t speak a single word. But every line of his body radiated anger—hot, wild, and confused anger that I couldn’t begin to understand.
She is mine. No one touches what is mine.
His words echoed in my head, louder than the hooves pounding against the earth, louder than the wind rustling the leaves. He had said it to threaten the rogue, to claim me as property of his pack, of h
